The Storm
by Karina Just Me
Summary: Painful love, all consuming obsession, maddening desire. Sequel to Before the Storm by Glass Mermaid. M for passion in some chapters. Definitely AU.
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: To anyone who may read this.

This writing isn't 100% mine! About half of this chapter is my own writing. Also the title isn't mine. I've taken this story, which is the sequel to "Before the Storm" by Glass Mermaid, and tried to continue it. I've done as best as I could! Really the first story was so beautiful, so anyone who enjoys stories about Ginny Weasley and Draco Malfoy falling in love, go read it! I couldn't bear the fact that Glass Mermaid left the story unwritten, so I copied and pasted what was left (on the Ice and Fire Archive) and put it into a word document and did my best, though it isn't finished. Enjoy :) There is much more to come, but if you don't read the first book (before the storm by glass mermaid) this story won't be half as good.

I feel very inspired by Glass Mermaid's writing, and don't want to look like a plagiarizer. I'm just an aspiring author like everyone else.

* * *

Draco strode through the wide doors into the Headmaster's office, nodding coolly at the old wizard seated behind the desk, who looked weaker and more fragile than seemed acceptable.

"Very good my boy," the old man smiled. "I see you've had no trouble fitting into your new appointment." He gestured to Draco's tailored ministry attire, the elegant and expensive black robes of one who knew how to dress properly.

"I was bred for this," Draco said offhand, taking the seat the old wizard offered.

"You are well, Draco?" Dumbledore asked kindly.

"Are you, Headmaster?" he returned coolly.

Dumbledore smiled.

"I am a youth no longer. I feel my age."

This was frightening, and so Draco chose to ignore it, instead inclining his head slightly towards the window.

"The rain held off long enough for the ceremony. We ought to be thankful."

"Of course, of course…"

Draco glanced at him, silver eyes narrowing. "I suspect I was not summoned here solely for small talk, Headmaster. Do get on with it."

"I merely wanted to warn you, my boy. There is already word of unrest stirring in different areas of the wizarding world. I trust you have upped security about the Ministry, but I fear you have not extended the same to yourself."

Draco's face remained impassive. "I assure you, I am able to defend myself aptly enough. Meanwhile, I have contingency plans for contingency plans for contingency plans. Fear not for me, Headmaster Dumbledore. Your efforts will not have been in vain."

Dumbledore seemed to ignore his caustic words, instead smiling tiredly and rising. His deep purple robes drew gently about him like the violet smudges of a sunset, and he adjusted his tall, matching hat.

"I need not explain my actions, young master Draco. You know as well as I do that you are very important and very dear to us all. I am glad you are safe. You weathered your storms with a strength even your father would have envied.

Draco stared at him blandly, though a strange tautness fisted within his chest. "Thank you, Headmaster."

The old man turned to look at him narrowly, his blue-eyed gaze weighty.

"There is another matter which I must discuss with you, Minister Malfoy," he emphasized the young mans title, and Draco stiffened.

"Yes?"

"I recall a promise I made to you, that you would be given that which you so desperately sought to keep should you become Minister of Magic."

Draco remained silent, still, a serpent tensed to strike.

"At this present time, I believe that a young Miss Weasley is located in Greenhouse Three, where she is helping Professor Sprout care for a series of Honking Daffodil seedlings."

Standing swiftly, Draco nodded curtly to Dumbledore, and swept out of the room.

* * *

Ginny hummed quietly to herself, accompanied by several weak little honks from the tiny daffodils before her. Carefully, she detangled loose dirt from around the roots of the young plants, before moving them into larger pots filled with fresh soil. She only had three more trays to go before she would be able to go relax in her quarters for the evening, and work on some of the research notes she and Professor Sprout had compiled.

One of the daffodils hissed at her when she attempted to lift it from its home and she glared at it.

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be," she muttered, and plucked it up.

Settling it into its new bed, she continued on and on and on, until only one tray remained.

By then, she was a bit overheated from the moist greenhouse air, and tucked a strand of hair that had fallen from her pony-tail away from her face.

"Bloody humidity," she sighed, and wiped her work gloves on her apron.

It was muggy and she was becoming crankier by the second, the warm dampness making her feel grimy and tired. Perhaps I'd better call it a day, she decided, I can always finish this in the morning when it's cooler.

She shucked her work gloves with a sigh, tossing them onto the table and stretching out her fingers. She doubted that Professor Sprout would mind terribly if she called it quits a bit early. The Honking Daffodils weren't going anywhere, and it wasn't as if Neville couldn't stand to do a few flats himself. Yawning, Ginny chastised herself for her uncharitable thoughts as she opened the greenhouse door and began to head towards Hogwarts.

Neville Longbottom was, after all, an apprentice a year ahead of herself. After the war he had come straight to Hogwart's and asked Madam Sprout if he could complete the apprenticeship he had to abandon at the start of the war. He had probably done all the grueling, thankless tasks she was doing now, without complaint. He had seniority, and getting nettled by it wouldn't make a difference.

The cool evening breezes refreshed her spirits considerably, and she glanced back over the greenhouses to see the beautiful smudges of orange and purple sifting across the fading azure sky. With a small smile, Ginny turned back towards the school, pulling her hair from her pony-tail as she went. Her scalp was sore, and she rubbed her fingers along the roots in an effort to ease the stinging after-ache of the too tight hairstyle.

The sunlight was spilling through the trees of the Forbidden Forest as it began to sink beneath them, pooling like molten gold along the cracked stone pathways. With a blissful sigh, Ginny lowered her hands from her hair, slowly walking calmly, her eyes closing peacefully for several seconds, simply enjoying the carefree environment. She opened her eyes, lifting them from the ground and up the path, frowning softly when she caught sight of a man heading her way, an uneasiness at his familiarity unsettling her nerves and sending alarms jangling through her body.

She stopped, staring hard and, with a sharp blossom of shock welling in her chest, recognition hit, his pale, silvery hair, catching a wash of sunlight, shone a honied gold.

Draco.

Her heart constricted, seeming to cause the rest of her insides to clench as well.

For over two years, Ginny had not seen, heard of, or heard from Draco Malfoy. The last night she had seen him, tumbling into his bed in a frenzy of violent, miserable, bloody passion, was the last time he had seemed to exist. She had accepted his loss with as much outward dignity and strength she could muster, but inwardly she pined for him, heartbroken and disconsolate. She was lost in a sea of confusion and anger, never knowing if he would turn up dead or she would hear word of devious exploits and wicked rumors chained to his name.

For over two years, she had done her best to forget him, he of the arrogant smiles and cold charisma. She had tried to lose her memories of him by drowning herself in the creation of new ones. She had tried to overshadow her love of him by turning to Harry Potter for solace, but could not bear to do more than touch his arm. She had tried to move forward, past the pain he had left her with, but could lose it no farther than the palm of her hand.

Now that a time for celebration had overcome the grim façade of battle, and the Wizarding world returned again to peace and civility, Ginny had time once more to realize that she was still hollow and lonely inside, that her heart still bled when she thought she saw his pale silver eyes within a crowd, or wondered if she truly had caught sight of his rich cloaks flickering around a hundred corners, every day.

It had been a cruel and bitter shock to have him once again tossed into her life from the emotionless newspaper pages, stepping from obscurity to accept the title of Minster of Magic from Dumbledore without even a note of apology. Her hurt and fury had scalded her, but it had been easiest to pretend that he was still missing from her world and that the man splayed on every newspaper page was a stranger.

But now he was here, striding towards her as if he owned the world, and everyone in it, including herself.

How dare he… How dare he!

She came to an abrupt halt, watching him warily as he approached. There could only be one thing he was seeking out by coming to the greenhouses this late in the day. There was no one else about but her.

Oh God, it is him, she thought, as he came to a sweeping stop before her, his grey eyes gleaming in the fading dusk.

He was taller than she remembered and almost painfully thin. His face was lean and somber, his mouth a harsh twist where once there was a curling sneer. His pale hair fell over his forehead, longer then it had been during his school days, and brushed into fashionable neatness. He wore long black robes trimmed with grey silk, ornate black embroidery scrolling along the seams. Smooth leather gloves covered his hands and wounded her pride. She knew what they hid, what they stood for; the scars he had etched into his palms as a symbol of his devotion to her hidden away where the world could not see. As Ginny raised her eyes back from her thorough inspection of his form, to his face, however, she drew in a quick breath.

Draco Malfoy was staring at her like that of a starved man watching a piece of ripe fruit. His eyes held her own with a frightening intensity, a fervor, a longing, that had her taking a step back like a frightened doe. He looked like a mad man, a desperate, dangerous mad man, and all at once she was struck by pity and sadness and longing for the boy she had loved so dearly.

But fury soon welled hot within her, along with a myriad of questions she deserved the answers to. She wanted to lash out at him, slap him, punch him, shriek at him, tell him that he had broken her heart and she wanted nothing to do with him ever again.

Instead, she dug the one sarcastic barb out from the surface of her brain that had burned, hot and low, for the years he had been gone, flinging it at him with all the cold aggression she could muster. It was a lie he had told her long ago, when she had been stupid enough and sad enough to believe him without question.

"How was Paris?" she spat scornfully.

For a moment she wondered if he would reply at all, his silver gaze glittering in the warm light, looking at her as if he suddenly realized that time had passed and she might have changed.

"I have never been," he replied offhand, and began to circle her like a hawk, his eyes feverishly raking her face and her body.

His cool, calm voice was deeper than before, harder.

He was taking in her changes as if he were a drowning man filling his lungs with water at the last, desperate seconds before death. Indeed, he felt as if he were dying a small death, looking at the changes of a girl who had become a woman though his mind has always kept her as the girl he had known before.

She was taller, slimmer than she had been, almost nearing thinness, and more poised. Her hair hung long and loose down her slender back, caught by the cool evening breezes. She watched him warily, the eyes he remembered for their warmth and joy, their open tears and longing, closed to him. She still stood with the same gauche grace. Her hair was still the burnished red of fire and poppies. She still trembled when he came close to her. She still smelled of dusky roses and morning glories.

"You don't even have the gall to lie to me anymore, Draco?" she scoffed.

"Not to you," he said, his cloak brushing the hem of her faded jeans as he circled around her. "I do not lie to you."

A note of forced humor entered her voice, as if she were straining for an easiness she didn't feel. "You always lied to me. You're nothing but lies."

A graceful shrug as he swept behind her, then, "Vilify me all you need, Ginevra. I did what I had to do to keep your innocence intact."

She gave a choking little cough of lost laughter, the horribly exhilarating déjà vu of his presence, his arrogance, his bearing, pressing down at her from all sides.

"Where have you been?"

And now her voice was weak, anguished, and she spun to face him and his gloved hands reached out and grabbed her arms. He dipped his face close to her, and his skin smelled of the clean sea and the painful past and she nearly wept again. He held her upright, his fingers digging into her tender flesh, his lips brushing against her forehead.

"I have been everywhere. I have been nowhere. I have been to Hell and back, and the only thing that kept me from dying was the thought that you were here, waiting for me."

Ginny kept her eyes on his, willing herself to stay strong.

He is a liar. A manipulator. I mustn't believe him. There can be nothing left of him but his evils now.

"I wasn't waiting for you, Draco," she said. "I gave up on you long ago. The only thing I waited for was news of your death."

He dropped his hands from her, stepping away. He eyed her as if she were a poisonous flower, something he dearly longed to touch but dared not for fear of the venom.

"You lie," he hissed, and she did.

"Go back to your world, Minister," she said angrily, feeling the sting of tears scratching at the back of her eyes, making her voice hoarse, "and leave me to mine."

Draco drew himself up, his face becoming a study of cold hardness. He squared his slim shoulders, and withdrew a silver headed cane from the pockets of his robe, a disturbing reminder of who he was and who his father had been. His gloved hands fell to his sides.

"I will never leave you, Ginevra Weasley," he said with a sudden, dangerous glint in his eyes and an edge to his voice. "I killed men and women to get back to you. I spied and stole and betrayed to see you once again. I became Minister of Magic so that I might skirt my social claims and have you once more."

He turned, sweeping back towards the castle, his robes billowing around his ankles. Ginny stared at his receding back, awestruck and horrified and filled with perverse pleasure.

"Prepare yourself," he threw over his shoulder, and was gone.

* * *

"Prepare yourself," Ginny mimicked angrily, slamming the door to her room shut. "Prepare yourself!"

She threw her hair tie to her dresser and kicked off her shoes.

"Like he's just declared war! Cad! Prat! Insufferable, arrogant pig!"

Fuming with a sickly mixture of anger, hurt and lost, shivering desires, Ginny crossed her arms and threw herself into a cushy chair. Her foot beat an irritated staccato on the carpet and she huffed uncomfortably, shifted, and promptly decided that it was best not to avoid thinking about him. It was better to face him head on.

"God," she tipped her head back and frustrated tears stung the corners of her eyes. "He's not dead! My Draco is not dead."

A part of her was wondering why she wasn't the happiest girl in the world. Draco was alive, the minister of magic, and he had come back to her. In fact, he seemed most determined to have her. Shouldn't she be ecstatic about her own twisted fairytale?

"Only the damsel isn't supposed to be in love with the villain," she frowned. "It's because he left me so horribly. It's because I never knew anything about him. It's because he just assumes I waited for him!"

_You _did _wait for him_, said a quiet voice in the back of her mind. "But I thought I gave up," she whispered. Well aware that she was talking to herself excessively, Ginny rubbed at her temples and groaned.

"I need to get out of here."

Snatching up her cloak, she swung the voluminous folds over her dirty clothing and stomped out the door.

* * *

Draco's thoughts were a tangled web of anger, hurt and longing. The way she had looked at him, as if he were a vile and dangerous creature, made his heart turn cold. He pressed his palms into his eyes, elbows propped on his grand ebony desk. Her voice had been sharp enough to wound him to the core, and it had. Lovely cinnamon brown eyes looking, underneath the loathing, like a cornered and hurt animal.

_That is how you left her_, his conscience told him. _Bloody and heartbroken... Only your Malfoy ego could have convinced you she would be waiting with open arms_.

His ego aside, he had not truly expected it, though he had hoped to see the love he felt for her mirrored, to some degree, in her own eyes. He had wanted to take her into his arms and erase it all with passionate kisses in a long awaited embrace, but his fantasies had been snuffed out by her harsh words.

_I wasn't waiting for you_, she said viciously in his mind, _I gave up on you long ago._

Draco's hands slid into his hair and clenched into fists around the silky strands, heedless to the need to maintain his spotless image.

"This is what she does to you," he snarled in a whisper, not wanting to bring his dolt of a secretary in to check if all was well. "Driving you mad with need for nearly two years and when the time comes, knocking your legs from under you."

_Two years is a long time_, his mind whispered, betraying his anger with the truth. More than a year spent as Voldemort's henchman, until the infallible Harry Potter could defeat him, another six months cleaning up one Dark mess after another. Then a message from Dumbledore telling him to come rejoin society and take his promised place as Minister of Magic. Three months solidifying his position, taking interviews and pictures, shaking hands and donating money, burning to see her, and dying every day he delayed. Then yesterday his visit to Hogwarts...

His mind swayed around the memories he had cherished deep in his dark heart for that soul-destroying year. The only thing that kept him sane, kept his humanity intact, was that vicious harpy he had encountered yesterday. But like the predator he was, he had smelled her desire swirling through her beautiful body as he circled, the fury and the hot, shivering passion lying just under the surface.

Suddenly he stood and smoothed his hair._ I will have her_, he thought with cold certainty, _I will die before I let her slip away from me._

He stalked out of his office and told his secretary to schedule a meeting with the head of St. Mungo's board of directors, a charity event of some kind would soon be in order.

* * *

Ginny felt, once again, as if her world was off center.

"Barely a ten minute visit from the prat and suddenly it's like I've fallen into a void," she muttered to herself as she, for the third time in an hour, shook herself from a daze. It had been almost four days now since she had seen Draco on the lawn of Hogwarts, barely fifty yards from where she now crouched, planting hellebore seeds in the soft soil. Plenty of time for her to regret her words, wish she could take them back then angrily admonish herself for her softness only to repeat the same cycle of thoughts over again.

The new school year would soon be starting and Proffessor Sprout was determined to have every greenhouse stocked to bursting with all the necessary plants. At first Ginny had been unsure about accepting payment for doing what she loved, but she was glad of it now. An entire summer spent on hands and knees in the dirt, planting and potting and repotting with little compensation, other than a sense of accomplishment, would have been hard to maintain enthusiasm for. But as it was she made several galleons a week.

She stayed in Griffindor's Head Girl's room which had once belonged to Hermione and in her free time meandered about the school grounds or visited Hogsmeade. The castle itself always felt much too empty and lonely to bear.

All the staff that stayed over the summer would eat together with their respective apprentices and the odd visitor, overall numbering around twenty. Ginny often skipped dinner, preferring to go drink at The Hog's Head, fully taking advantage of her nineteen years of age, and always enjoying the murky quietness and the dingy bar. Always managing to stumble up to the school on unsteady legs before midnight, when the doors were locked.

Sometimes she would apparate to the Burrow and spend a quiet evening in her strangely empty home. All the boys rarely visited, leaving Molly alone with her new house elf, who had been purchased for exactly that purpose, Arthur and, more recently, Lavinia, George's pregnant fiancé. George stopped by more often than the rest of them, although Ron and Harry had a good excuse the way Minister Malfoy kept the Aurors running to and fro.

Ginny sighed and stood, pressing her hands into her lower back, and leaned this way and that, feeling a pop in her spine.

The day had been warm, with a soft balmy breeze but she could barely appreciate it. The clouds in her head were thick with memories, though not all of Draco, and tainted by feelings she had desperately hoped were gone. Ignoring them, she decided, would be better in the long run.

_And what is the best remedy for unwanted emotions?_ she asked herself.

A bath and a change of clothes was all that needed done before her night in Hogsmeade could begin. Dressed in a pair of dark denim jeans and a thin, long-sleeved blouse that matched the black of her new mary jane's rather well, she walked down to the entrance hall, but before pushing open the doors sensed someone watching her.

"Headmaster!" She said in surprise. "I was just going to go... for a walk."

His warm, sad smile informed her that he did not believe her words, though she had not really expected him to. "Enjoy the weather, Miss Weasley," He said kindly. "You never know how quickly the harsher seasons may come upon us." He inclined his head towards her and swept off to dinner, looking very regal in robes of soft silver-blue.

As she walked down past the gates to the apparation border a strange thought occurred to her. _Dumbledore has always known. From the start he knew what would happen to us. _

She hurried on to the Hogs Head, suddenly in desperate need of a drink.

* * *

"Minister! Good afternoon. Your owl took me by surprise, but I was very glad of it!" Othelia Cobblestone whisked into Draco's spacious office, seeming to fill it with and aura of well managed problems and brisk, productive conversation.

"Yes, Miss Cobblestone I feel fortunate that you were able to meet me on such short notice." The truth was that he had hoped to meet with her in a week, but she had insisted on seeing him as soon as she possibly could.

"So!" Othelia exclaimed, not one to waste time, "A charity gala, ball, barbecue, picnic, breakfast, brunch, lunch, or dinner?" She tittered at all the options she listed.

"I believe a ball of some sort would be best."

"Best? Perhaps, yes. Casual or formal?" She did not know of the Minister's ulterior motives for wanting this ball, what she did know was that St. Mungo's desperately needed a new wing, preferably an extension to the psych ward.

"Formal, though not so formal as to be seen as catering to the wealthy."

"Ah, that is probably wise! We don't want to look like hustlers." She laughed at her joke. "So, music is a definite yes! Something upbeat leaning towards classical, and nothing overly modern? Food?"

"Something light but savory, no salad or sandwiches. We need tables, but not so many that everyone can sit, I want mingling."

"Refreshments?"

"A bar, nothing resembling punch bowls. Wine and other light drinks, I don't want guests abusing the free alcohol and ending up vomiting on the dance floor." Draco did not realize it, but Othelia was rather impressed. Not even twenty-two years old, the youngest Minister of Magic ever, and he knew his own mind, as well as how to organize a ball.

"Invitations will be plus one?"

"Yes, sent to all prominent wizarding families. Although we might leave it open to people who know the location. Of course it would have to be an exclusive location to dissuade undesirables from attending."

A sudden unpleasant thought occurred to Othelia; Put a large group of prominent people together and suddenly there was potential for dangerous trouble. After all, the war had not ended all that long ago. "I... hesitate to bring up the problem of security as it may be a touchy subject to someone who has so much of those sort of problems on his hands, but I'm sure safety won't be an issue."

Honestly, Draco was incensed by the not-so-subtle question in her feigned confidence, but he didn't show it. "Don't worry, Miss Cobblestone, I will personally insure the safety of all the guests. I'm not the Minister of Magic for no reason."

"I have every faith in you, Minister Malfoy. Now, I can see that you want this to be a big event and I completely understand! A society coming together after the war to make much needed improvements upon our recovering world. It's very poetic and the idea will sell very well, I'm sure. But it does beg the question, how will we make this a big enough event to where one simply _cannot_ refuse the invitation?"

Though he was becoming a trifle irritated by this overbearing woman's mannerisms, charm was a Malfoy's middle name, and he needed her to pull this together. "I would like to believe that simply because I am the one doing the inviting all the wizarding world would love to attend, but that may not be the case." He smiled smoothly to show her that he was not being serious. "I do hope you will assist me in making this a success, I will pull some strings and I count on you to do the same."

Miss Cobblestone had, of course, noticed that the Minister was a handsome man, and her pale cheeks turned a light pink at the sudden warmness under his business like demeanor. "I will not fail you, Minister." She said and glanced away from his intense gaze rather too quickly. "I will find the perfect location, never fear."

He stood and she did likewise. After bidding him good afternoon Othelia turned to leave, but before reaching the door looked back and said. "I'm sure you hear this all the time, but I believe those who doubted your ability to run the Ministry because of your young age were very much mistaken. You seem to be in control of everything, despite it."

Draco knew that she was in her mid thirties, though she didn't look it. "I might say the same to you, Miss Cobblestone."

She smiled and left quickly, and Draco sat down at his desk again. _Some women_, he thought smugly,_ are simply too easy_.

"Violet," he called. In normal circumstances, his secretary would not have heard her name, but as it was she heard clearly and popped through the door a split second later.

"Yes, Minister?" She asked, round face pink and sounding almost out of breath.

"Send an owl to Pansy Parkinson. I need to speak with her."

"Right away, sir. Is that all you would like me to say?"

Draco smiled slightly. "Yes."

* * *

"Nothing like gardening at noon to cure a hangover, eh?" Said Neville with a chuckle.

"Oh yeah," Ginny replied rather waspishly. "It's just bloody marvelous."

"Do you even remember what happened last night, Gin?" Neville's voice sounded a bit serious now, and she decided she didn't want to know.

"Please, Neville. Now is not the time to regale me with my own drunken foolishness," she bent back to weeding the vegetables and muttering bug-repellent charms.

"It's not that you were acting a fool," he said persistently. "But you seemed to go from depressed to devilishly happy and back rather quickly. You're lucky I was there!" Then he laughed. "_I'm_ lucky I was there, come to think of it. Ron would have killed me if he knew I had let you fall into the laps of any of the rogues in that bar."

Ginny groaned inwardly. "What exactly do you mean by 'fall into the laps of'?"

He remained quiet for a moment, prompting her to look up at him in worry. "Oh, it's not that big a deal, really..."

"Oh, Neville!" Ginny covered her eyes with the back of her hands so as not to get dirt on her face. "I knew I was drinking too much, I just couldn't help it. The more I drank the better I felt!"

"There were a lot of nasty buggers in there, Gin, that's all I'm saying. And under normal circumstances I'm confident you could have handled yourself. It's just..."

She sighed. "Go on, then."

"You seemed... rather eager... Oh I don't know!"

"Rather eager to have some greasy oaf take me to bed?"

His face, already pink from exertion, went scarlet.

"I'm sorry you had to protect me. Really, I am. I'm so ashamed. I had it under control for a couple hours, really, but I'm rather small to be drinking with men twice my weight."

"Gin, I don't know what happened, and you don't have to tell me. But the war got to all of us. I know you must miss Fred a lot, and whatever else is bothering you... you can always talk to me, alright? Gin?"

"Thank you, Neville." Ginny smiled at him. "I know I can."

"And next time you need a drink, first, invite me and, second, go to the Three Broomsticks. I get the feeling the Hog's Head will be getting more male business for a couple of weeks after a night like last."

Neville ducked as a big piece of dirt nearly hit him in the head, and laughed.

* * *

Minister Malfoy sat behind his dark L shaped desk idly scanning the reports that the DMAC as well as the DRCMC had sent him of how the dementor sweeps were coming along. After being left leaderless most of the Azkaban dementors, not knowing what to do and left with the unfulfilled promise of endless gluttony, had returned to the prison. The others had apparently gone on a feasting rampage among muggles as well as wizards.

The head Auror, Moria Delancey, had been wounded during a skirmish in the east with members of what seemed like a cult that worshiped Voldemort and sought to live as he had in his glory years before Harry Potter became the boy who lived.

"What a joke," Draco muttered, shaking his head.

Pansy swept into his office as if she owned it, not bothering to stop at Violet's desk to be announced. "I adore how you think you can simply call and I'll come running." She said sarcastically, taking a seat.

"Thank you for proving me correct," he said and she simply glared at him in silence. "I need a favor."

"I'm not surprised," said Pansy, though she actually was.

"St. Mungo's needs a new hospital wing, and I'm organizing a charity event of sorts." Draco said, knowing that she always took comfort in exchanging pleasantries, false though they might be.

"How fascinating," Pansy's lip curled in annoyance. "I don't suppose you're going to ask me to help fund this _new hospital wing_."

"I wouldn't dream of imposing upon your family's resources."

"I hope you're not suggesting that I don't have the means." Pansy said, anger flaring. "The rumors that my father went bankrupt are false, for your information."

"I had heard no such rumors, but I do give my condolences." Draco smiled icily, loving that this heiress of the aristocracy could lose her composure so quickly.

"Tell me what you want, Draco." Pansy said, seated like a stone in the chair, legs crossed at the knee, back straight and stiff, and a haughty look on her face.

"I need you to make sure the ball I am sponsoring is popular enough to make it a success, both with appropriating the money St. Mungo's needs and as a post-war celebration."

Pansy hated that she felt a small blush of pride at his knowing she was the go-to person to make any event, as he said, a success. The blush did not show on her face. She smiled slightly "Oh, indeed? How flattering."

He simply smirked, seeing through her icy words. "I'm sure. So you will lend me your help?"

"Do I have a choice in the matter?"

"Does anyone?"

Her eyes narrowed at his cryptic answer. "I'll take care of it, Minister."

"See that you do." He turned away from her back to a letter he was writing, and she stood with a scowl and left. He knew that she would not disappoint him, she never could resist the siren's call of his approval.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note: This entire chapter is my own writing... I'm pointing it out because I want recognition (haha, don't we all) and also I don't think I write nearly as well as Glass Mermaid and I wish someone who was reading would tell me otherwise. Which brings me to my next point. I wish people who read this would **Review**. I rarely do without a writer reminding me... so there it is.

**Enjoy! **

* * *

"Ginny!" called a boy named Thoman Clarey, who was seated down the table. "Looks like you got an invitation too. How strange!"

She was sitting at breakfast, next to Neville and across from a rather bland girl who was studying under Professor Vector, the arithmancy teacher. Thoman, along with another girl, were students of Professor Sinistra's who had not passed their astronomy NEWT's by only a few marks and were there for summer school, which was uncommon. The letter that an owl had just dropped into her lap was wrapped in a pretty honey-colored envelope with pale gold writing on it.

_**Ginevra Weasley**_

_** Herbology Apprentice**_

_** Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**_

Thoman was rather wealthy and often bragged about his father working in the Department of Mysteries, and how his mother had inherited his grandfather's Gringott's vault, as well as the land he owned in Ireland, after both his uncles, who were Death Eaters, died at the hands of Ministry Aurors. With all that in mind, Ginny wondered why and how she had received the same letter as him.

Inside was a thick card with an amazingly realistic picture on the front of a large house seated next to a beautiful lake. There was a man fishing off a boat in the middle of the water and pretty willow trees swayed in the wind. "Wow," she said, opening the card.

_Dear Miss Weasley,_

_ We graciously invite you to attend this year's Grand Charity Ball, hosted by the venerable Minister of Magic, Draco Malfoy. It would be our pleasure for you, and a guest of your choice, to visit and enjoy yourself in the rich environment that we hope to provide at this formal society event._

_ Come and spend an evening with us at the lakeside to celebrate the beginning of a new age of peace and prosperity. The doors open at nine. Make sure to bring your dancing shoes as there will be more than enough music and merriment to go around. August 18th is the day to look forward to, see you then!_

_Sincerest wishes,_

_Othelia Cobblestone_

_Head of St. Mungo's Board of Directors_

Ginny simply did not know what to make of it. Thoman, on the other hand, was bragging to Barica, his fellow summer school mate, about how he was sure his mother had received an invitation as well but because he was the only male who was of his grandfather's blood everything would eventually belong to him, and so he was an equally important guest. The pretty blonde simply smiled and nodded, though everyone else who heard rolled their eyes.

The venerable Minister of Magic, Draco Malfoy. Ginny reread those words and her ego blushed at the though of him inviting her personally, though she could never have guessed that he had created the ball especially to get close to her. Such a thought would have been ludicrous. _August 18?_ she thought suddenly. _That's just over a week from today! I'll need to buy a dress soon if I want it to be ready by then._

That was when she realized that the thought of ignoring the invitation had not even entered her mind. Her stomach turned. _I bet he knows it, too. He _knows _I want to see him again. How sad! _

Either way she decided that a visit to Diagon Alley to see about purchasing a new dress would not go amiss. She could always decide to return it...

Ginny looked back at the front of the card and found that the beautiful picture of the lake was gone, replaced by a very pretty watercolor of the same image. She realized that she could still see the realistic picture of the lake house perfectly if she concentrated. _So... apparation it is. How clever_.

She closed the card and slid it back into the envelope. Neville looked up at her as she stood. "I'll be out in Greenhouse Two today if you need me, Nev. See you at lunch." Ginny went to her room and sat down on the edge of the bed, setting the card down on the nightstand. She tried to resist the memories that washed over her but couldn't help being reminded of that night, two years ago. The last time she could remember feeling whole. She hadn't even attended the last Farewell Feast she would ever be a guest of in her seventh year, deciding that laying in her dormitory sobbing into her pillow was the better option.

Being quietly ashamed of her clothing had faded into the background by her sixth year in school, but that night had been worse than most. Not knowing it would be the last impression she gave Draco, she'd worn the only formal dress she had. She remembered how elegant and rich Pansy Parkinson had looked, _Standing always next to _my_ "boyfriend". _That is what she had considered him then. Foolish girl that she was. Either way she refused to let that happen again, deciding her monies would be well spent on something expensive.

The clock on her desk suddenly said, "You're going to be late, dear."

"Thank you," Ginny was grateful for the interruption of her thoughts more than the reminder of work. The clock said "You're welcome, of course, dear" and she left, eager for the day to be over.

* * *

The unfortunate truth was that Draco desperately hoped Ginevra would attend the ball, out of curiosity if nothing else. Deep inside he felt that she was still his, but doubts preyed on him constantly, and the thought of all his planning resulting in nothing made him feel cold and angry. A Malfoy always got his way, and he wasn't going to let that change any time soon. Everything was coming together perfectly, after all.

His robes were already fitted and ready, Violet had taken every care. They were modern, a mixture of muggle fashion, his secretary was a muggle-born witch, and the sense of style only a Malfoy, or someone of his stature, could get away with. His robes were a silky matte black pinstripe that did his height and waist size justice, accentuating his broad shoulders. The seal of the Ministry of Magic was sewn in dark acid green thread above his heart. The cut of the robe was reminiscent of the muggle trench coat, stopping just above his knees, tighter than traditional wizard robes, but loose enough to pass as merely an eccentric new style.

Underneath he would wear matching silk trousers along with a fine black cotton shirt and suit vest that was the opposite of the rest of his attire; black pinstripes on a dark grey wool silk blend.

He had praised Violet on her choice and taste, making her turn a bright pink. Draco enjoyed such reminders of his control over the female species immensely, though he would not consider her a hard-won conquest. The mixture of taciturnity and charismatic charm he exuded was a by-product of those who raised him, though when he remembered what those traits had brought him, an all-consuming obsession for Ginevra Weasley, he admitted that women could be equally dangerous in that respect.

At the moment Draco was sitting in what had been his mother's study, penning a letter to a certain tailor in Diagon Alley, describing a young woman who would soon be visiting her shop in search of a dress for a formal event. He wrote down his ideas of what colors and styles best suited her. "A surprise gift to my lady" was the only explanation he left in the letter, ensuring that all expenses would be paid except for a small amount that the lady must pay so he did not risk her becoming suspicious. He knew how the tailor would react to his "romantic" gesture, _some_ men were predictable.

Draco had already chosen jewelry from his vault in Gringotts as well as some new pieces that Violet had ordered from an expensive store in France and sent them to the Twilfitt and Tatting's to await Ginevra's visit. There were only a few choices in dress that the proprietor would let Ginevra see, and he had chosen earrings and necklaces, jeweled hair combs, bracelets and rings to match her options.

There was a soft knock on the door of the study. Draco didn't have to say anything, the knock was simply for the sake of decorum. Gregory Goyle peered into the room. "Draco," he began to speak, but was cut off.

"I'm busy Goyle. I have many things to do before tomorrow. Can it wait."

"I suppose it could, but as it involves the Weasley girl, I figured you would want to know."

"The Weasley girl?"

"Yes. Ginevra Weasley, your past school mate and lover."

"I suppose you think you can use that disrespectful tone simply because you feel you know me well enough to get away with it." Draco spoke without looking up from the many papers on the desk.

Goyle paused. He hadn't realized he had any tone, let alone a disrespectful one. He simply felt the need to go on telling Draco what he had heard, and knew Draco was evading him because he was uncomfortable with how much he knew.

"Nevermind, then, Draco. It can wait, though I doubt you'll thank me later." Goyle stalked out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

* * *

The story Goyle had heard worried him, rather more than it should considering he barely knew the girl. If he was right, and the fiery redhead his man had described in Hogsmeade was Ginevra Weasley, then... he honestly didn't know what to think. He was caught somewhere between a sense of "I knew he would damage the girl somehow" and "How will she ever be seen with him if she is recognized cavorting that way in village taverns?"

Gregory shook his head. This was truly none of his affair, and Draco's reaction was enough to have him regret bringing it up to begin with. His concern for Draco's life and happiness was about as unorthodox as a hound that is treated well biting it's owner, it simply didn't make sense. His relationship with the Minister was something on the border of friendship with someone he had known for a long time and idolizing someone who is powerful, simply because they have done things that he never could.

In fact part of the reason Goyle respected Malfoy so much was because after all the years they had known each other Draco still did not consider him or anyone a friend, always maintaining the icy dignity Malfoys' had in such abundance when a lesser man would have simply accepted friendship, though he suspected Ginny Weasley had broken that barrier somewhat. He hoped she had, or would in time. Greg remembered his father's relationship with Lucius, and saw how curiously fate had mirrored that in his own life, even Vincent had the same place in their trio as the late Crabbe had.

_But I'm an Auror_, thought Goyle with a smile, _not a Death Eater._ _I'm better than my father, may the brute rest in peace, and I'll make sure my children are better than me_.

Strangely enough children were on Gregory's mind a lot lately. He had met a woman, she worked in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and though she was kind to everyone he was convinced that she was often sweeter to him than most. Though she would undoubtedly be flabbergasted if she ever knew he pictured her as the mother of his children, but he couldn't help it, and had no intention of letting her off easy. Greg planned to ask her to the ball, though the very idea made him nervous.

Apparating from the Manor to the house he had grown up in, which was large and dark, though nothing near as big as Malfoy's, now felt comfortable, as it had not a few months ago when he had moved in permanently. His mother died in this house when he was young, but the pictures of her always brought him comfort.

He fell asleep that night and dreamed an odd dream, full of familiar figures, happy voices and the smell of oranges. When he awoke the dream slipped from his mind, leaving him feeling vaguely content.

* * *

The weekend was finally upon her and Ginny was relieved to have something to prepare for. Hogwarts was very like a second home to her, but the desire to get away was irrepressible. It had been a welcome diversion from her post-war life to be invited back as an apprentice herbologist, since she truly had no idea what to do with her future. Now she simply wanted to get away from everyone. Time alone. That modest idea was something Ginny could barely wrap her mind around, having never experienced such a thing.

She almost had enough money to do some traveling, but what then? Move back into her bedroom in the burrow when her money ran out? Work at the ministry with two of her brothers and her father?

Ginny gave a sigh, truly hating how her thoughts all coursed in the same direction.

_More like lack of direction..._

Apparating alone to Diagon Alley felt bizarre. She rarely visited without others, never having anything in particular that she wanted to buy. She recognized the families that were there shopping for school supplies. The muggles were easiest to spot among them, either wide eyes with fascination or looking down at their watches, with their wizard children pulling them along, anxious to find friends and check out the racing brooms on display.

A familiar voice called her name. "Ginny, hello."

Luna Lovegood was standing a couple yards away in front of the Magical Menagerie, a clothing bag swinging from one hand. Her light blonde hair was shorter than Ginny remembered.

"Hello, Luna! It's so lovely to see you."

"Yes. Neville told me you've been at Hogwarts this summer with him. That must be so wonderful."

"Neville told you that? It has been very nice."

"Oh, does he not talk about me?" She gave a small laugh. "I would think he was embarrassed if I didn't know better."

Ginny subconsciously recognized a change in her dreamy friend. "Embarrassed? You two aren't... together, are you?"

"We are. Is it very strange?" Luna was puzzled at her reaction.

"It is! I had no idea he was involved with anyone, let alone you. How did he get so lucky, if I may ask?" All of her own self-absorbed thoughts were forgotten at this new revelation. Despite Luna's awkward thinness and her many idiosyncrasies she was a pretty, lovely person, and not to mention a Ravenclaw who graduated with marks that rivaled those of Hermione Granger.

"After I recovered from the war I met his grandmother, though I didn't know her as that at the time..." Luna trailed off as she saw the expression on Ginny's face.

"Oh, Luna! I'm so sorry. I didn't remember that you were held captive. I feel so insensitive!" Ginny grabbed her arm and hugged her fiercely, much to Luna's surprise and pleasure.

"It's fine, truly. I was only a prisoner for a few weeks."

It wasn't a surprise to Ginny that she looked at it that way. She pulled away from the hug. "What do you say to a cup of tea at Rosa Lee's?"

"That would be very nice I think." Luna pulled her wand out of her pocket and flicked it at her bag, which disappeared with a soft pop.

The next half hour passed quickly, as the two young women sat chatting over cups of tea. Ginny felt a sort of peace in Luna's presence. The older girl described what it was like being locked in an underground warehouse with Olivander the wandmaker, a goblin and Dean Thomas, as well as being rescued by the golden trio, Harry, Ron and Hermione. She spoke of her father who was still printing The Quibbler, and of Neville.

"I think he would have told me you two were together, Luna, but he didn't want to see the same surprise I showed you. Of course I would have hidden it better in front of him."

"No I understand." She smiled softly down at her empty tea-cup, pale blue eyes sparkling. "He is a wonderful man. I always admired him in school, but I never thought I would feel romantically for him."

"You're very lucky." She paused, looking closely at her friend. "Luna?"

"Hm?" She looked up at Ginny.

"It feels odd saying this, but you've changed."

Luna's brows drew together slightly. "You're right. I'm the same really, but different... it may have been the war, but I may simply be growing up. I could be a doctor if I wanted, you know. Neville's gran told me she has connections at St. Mungo's, and all my NEWTs are high enough."

"I wish I were so lucky." Ginny shook her head.

Luna laughed. "Not everyone can work at the Ministry, Gin. Though you could be an Auror if you want! And I remember how good you were at Quidditch. I met the seeker for the Holyhead Harpies once."

"Wouldn't that be something? I'm sure Ron would hate me for it!"

When Luna asked her about how her love life was, she didn't know what to say. She was perceptive enough to have figured out Ginny's secret relationship with Draco Malfoy when they had been in school together, so she had no doubt that she saw things weren't going smoothly in that area of her life at the moment. Instead Ginny told her about the ball she was invited to, and that she was actually in Diagon Alley shopping for a dress to impress someone. Luna smiled at that.

"Don't wear red. Wouldn't want to attract male nargles."

Ginny laughed and stood, hugging her friend once again, telling her she would write or visit some time when she had the chance.

As she headed toward Twillfit and Tatting's Ginny felt a sense of closure, as if a painful itch she hadn't noticed was there had been soothed.

* * *

Hope you liked. There's more to come. Tell me your opinions... what you liked and didn't like. But be gentle... I'm very sensitive.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note**: My sincerest thanks to the only person who has bothered **review**ing, thank you **Marinka** :)

I do hope you all enjoy this chapter. Again I would consider it a personal favor if you people would **review** and tell me what you liked about it so I can go about bettering my writing and pleasing my fans. But of course, simply reading it and appreciating the time and effort it takes to piece together someone else's writing would also be cool.

* * *

Pansy sat in the bright light of her family's living room, tea in hand, steadfastly ignoring her mother's words, thinking only about what to wear to the Charity Ball. Poppy Parkinson wasn't speaking directly to her, so she wasn't worried about being accused of _not caring_. That was Poppy's main problem with her oldest daughter, and she was never quiet about expressing it.

The younger daughter, Pimelea, was her favorite, and had been for nine years.

"Dear," Mrs. Parkinson was saying, "I realize you're a bit young to be learning about your family's history, but really I'm just trying to teach you what's best."

The older daughter snorted softly. She didn't dislike her baby sister, not really, but she very much disliked her mother and saw how the woman's influence was corrupting the young girl. It made her sick to watch how very much Pimelea was becoming like their mother.

Poppy went on about how she would need to show signs of magical abilities soon, or she wouldn't be able to go to Hogwarts and meet fellow Pure-Bloods, or some other elitist nonsense. The fact that her mother had told Pansy the same things, which she had followed to the letter, didn't make her any less of an idiot in Pansy's eyes. Poppy had met her wealthy upper class husband, Clyde Parkinson, at Hogwarts, he in his fifth year and she in her third, both Slytherin, and they had married after Poppy became pregnant.

She had been sixteen at the time, and so dropped out of Hogwarts to raise the baby, and not a day went by that she didn't remind Pansy of "all the things I gave up for you".

Poppy's biggest worry was that Pimelea would be a squib. The shame that would bring on the Parkinson family caused her constant fear. How her society friends, all wives now with children as well, would scorn her. She would never be able to brag about marrying into a Pure-Blood family again.

Nine years old and not a single levitating rock or accidental hex. Pansy _almost _wanted Pimelea to be a squib, just so Poppy would shut up about it, but she knew otherwise. After her sixth year at Hogwarts, during a summer trip to Italy, Pansy had tried to teach a five-year old Pimelea to swim.

Instead of charming her to be able to breath under water, which would have been in proper wizarding style, she had taken an old and much respected approach. She shoved her into the deep end of their summer-house pool. What Pansy had expected, happened. Pimelea thrashed about in the clear, warm water, drank several gulps of it, then while Pansy yelled at her to relax, floated up to the top and nearly lifted herself out completely.

Pimelea had been too excited about learning how to swim to remember what had happened, and without the usual sort of loud excitement from adults, she hadn't known it was magic.

The more she grew, the sillier and high strung she became, just like Poppy herself. Pansy suspected that Pimelea would never be proficient in magic if she didn't learn to calm down and relax, but she had no doubt she would go to Hogwarts at age eleven... and perhaps that would make all the difference.

Pansy thanked fate, not for the first time, that Clyde Parkinson had not inherited his father's money and business until she was older. Pimelea was not so fortunate, and so only had her mother's guidance. Pansy might have felt guilty about not stepping in and trying to right some of the problems that she saw in Pimelea, but she always had hated children, and probably always would.

* * *

"Good day, young woman," said a tall, thin, very well dressed man, looking at her denim skirt with disapproval. "May I help you?"

"Hello, I want to buy a special occasion sort of dress." Ginny was nervous, this man was used to upper class customers with expensive taste, she had almost thirty Galleons to spend but was desperately hoping for a bargain.

"Ah, and may I ask your name?"

"My name is Ginevra Weasley." _Why would he want to know that? _Then it occurred to her that maybe he knew what families did and didn't have money. "I _can_ afford one."

He simply laughed, giving her a strange look. "I'm very sure you can, my dear. My name is Aris Gavell," he bowed with a flourish. "A pleasure to meet you."

"Yes..." Ginny hesitated, this flamboyant man was suddenly acting rather pleasant. "It's nice to meet you too."

"So tell me, Miss Ginevra, what sort of special occasion dress do you have in mind?" He was looking her up and down, waiting for her response.

"Well," she began, "I was thinking nothing very flashy... but I'm not very sure what suits my coloring. I want to look classy, but... alluring?"

Aris was smiling at her with approval as well as something else, it reminded her of someone with a secret. "You've come to the right place. I'm going to make your dreams come true, little lady."

The next two hours passed in a flurry of activity and lively chatter from the tailor. Ginny herself did very little. He had led her to an elegant, well-lit back room and told her to disrobe, which she did with only a small amount of trepidation, though he didn't seem at all interested in her, aside from commenting that she had very nice skin.

Aris took her measurements, everything from her neck circumference to her foot length.

Ginny had given him free rein, and though he seemed rather excited, he didn't go wild with showing her many varieties of cloth.

He showed her a silky black fabric that shimmered slightly and though Ginny loved how it felt, she thought it bleached her skin too much. She nearly fell in love with a bolt of cloth that bled from deepest crimson to a dark magenta, but remembering Luna's theory about nargles, decided to pass it. The next cloth Aris showed her was beautiful, at first it seemed a deep green-blue, but when he moved closer it became completely blue, like the sea, then he held it up against her body and it seemed more emerald than blue.

As soon as Ginny pictured herself wearing a dress of that color in the soft, clingy material, she stopped feeling nervous about the ball, and instead felt excited.

* * *

Pansy looked into the full length mirror and admired herself. The black dress was long-sleeved, but the top of the sleeves barely graced her shoulders before swooping down the length of her back, mere inches above her tail-bone. The front of the dress was modest in comparison, stopping well above her breasts.

The thin material clung to her body until it reached her hips where it flared gently out down to her pointed black stilettos.

She didn't like for Pimelea to see her dressed this way, lest she suffer through the same thing Pansy herself experienced at that age; the deep desire to be an adult, with breasts and everything.

"You look pretty, Pansy," was all Pimelea said as she bounced on her big sister's large four-post bed.

"Yes, I do, don't I? Being naturally thin is a blessing, Lea. We have mother to thank for that."

Pimelea stopped bouncing. "Are you really going to marry Draco Malfoy? Is he handsome?"

Pansy froze in the process of removing her black opal earings. She felt an angry blush spreading up her chest. _No doubt Mother has been overheard talking about the non-existent engagement... again_. Pansy sighed. "Probably, though there are few things in life that are set in stone. And, yes, he is very handsome."

"Like a knight? Or like a prince?"

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Like a prince, I suppose. I have some things I need to do, Lea, I'm sure mother is wondering where you are."

Pimelea, used to such dismissal, nodded and walked out without a backward glance, leaving Pansy to think about marriage, duty, love and children in peace.

* * *

Draco's preparations on the night of the ball were scant compared to those of Ginny Weasley. While she bathed for thirty minutes, washing and conditioning her hair, and rubbing her sweet flowery soap against her skin, he took a five minute shower, complete with shampoo and body wash.

After drying off they both set about doing their hair. Draco parted his and brushed it back. Ginevra dried hers with a charm and, after applying an anti-frizz potion, brushed it for five minutes. She then put large curlers in, keeping them in place with another spell.

At that point the Minister was dressed in his elegant robes, only stopping to appreciate how the color made his eyes look more silver than usual, before leaving to oversee the last-minute preparations at the lake house.

Ginny let the curlers set while she dressed. Aris had truly done an amazing job with the dress, and she luxuriated in the feel of slipping into it. She admired the shoes that he had sent her to match, they were strappy blue-green high heels with small jewels embedded in them. Her jewelry was impeccable, and she admired Aris' taste... though she had the strange feeling that someone else had a hand in it.

Aris had told her that the jewelry was on loan, and that's why she didn't have to pay for it, but the dress and shoes had only cost five Galleons, which seemed unbelievable considering the time it must have taken. She just didn't see who her benefactor could be, or perhaps didn't want to see.

It took just slightly less than an hour for her to cajole her hair into the updo that Aris had told her would look perfect for the occasion. With a touch of red lipstick and mascara Ginny felt ready. She looked in the mirror at herself with a sigh of relief. Finally... for better or worse this night had come. She would see Draco, speak with him, maybe dance with him, and hopefully be rid of the nagging wish to prove herself to him.

Walking quietly on the Hogwarts grounds, feeling the balmy night air against her skin... it should have felt good, peaceful, but she had a most curious feeling. A premonition, perhaps. One that told her this night would not end on the happy note she hoped. _Probably just nerves,_ she told herself, and apparated silently to the beautiful house by the lake.

* * *

"Minister," said Othelia breathlessly. "All is going wonderfully! Hardly have we opened the doors and already half the guests have arrived. I don't know how you managed it, but I have no doubt this ball will be spoken of for weeks. I dare say a column in the Daily Prophet would not be a stretch of the imagination."

"Yes," Draco said distractedly. "I'm sure you're right."

"I'm going to go make my rounds. I suggest you do the same. Must keep up appearances, mustn't we?" She giggled and moved away, leaving Draco grimacing at the familiar sound.

"She's very... enthusiastic, isn't she?" Pansy said scathingly.

"You haven't done much maturing since your school days, have you?" Draco replied, easily surpassing her scornfulness.

"Oh, my. I did not recognize you, _Saint_ Malfoy. My apologies." She sneered at him and walked away, hips swaying beneath her dark black dress.

Draco frowned slightly before turning to take the advice of Miss Cobblestone, who was near the double glass doors, which were enchanted to display pretty, swirling light configurations.

Several wizards introduced themselves to him immediately, including the founder of Zonko's Joke Shops. A man named Ifor Veredas shook his hand vigorously after declaring himself, in his rather garish accent, a Spanish merchant who was living in Scotland for the summer. "I am here on business as well as pleasure," he said with a broad smile. "I do enjoy the way your British wizarding society works. Truly fascinating."

A thin smile was all the expression he could conjure. "I'll be sure to visit Spain when the opportunity next presents itself, Mr. Veredas. I must thank you for stopping to speak with me, but I believe your lady is impatient for a dance." Indeed his date, the very rich, and recently divorced, Marisin Hatchet, looking not a day over thirty though she was in her mid forties, had been shooting Draco flirtatious glances from where she was standing amidst several of her female peers, for several minutes now.

"I believe you are correct," Ifor chuckled, looking at Marisin with adoration. "Women, eh? Let us speak again later!" He strode to Marisin and whisked her to the dance floor, leaving behind several jealous women who were not so fortunately divorced or attractive.

_I almost feel bad for the lout_, Draco thought rather generously.

A familiar head of fluffy brown hair caught his eye as he made his way to the side of an acquaintance. He had almost forgotten that Hermione Granger was now the junior assistant to Boris Trollbridge, the head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

The sudden fleeting thought that she was wasting her talents in that field made him feel nearly sick._ If my father could hear me now, _he thought in disgust. _Talents! Being a know-it-all isn't a talent. _But, in her case, it was. And he knew it. _Pansy is right, I am becoming a saint_.

Deciding to ignore his idle thoughts, as well as distract himself from the strange nervous vigilance he was experiencing, he let himself be absorbed by the flow of introductions and the easy charm he could exude in the right situations.

After about half an hour the flow of guests slowed to a trickle, the large ballroom was now loud with merry conversation and music, and as Draco went to let out a sigh, the sight before him made the breath catch in his throat.

* * *

_God, he looks so handsome!_ Ginny thought as soon as she laid eyes on the Minister of Magic. Small fires blazed in various parts of her body, but she made sure to put them out before coming to a stop in front of him. His palest blonde hair was parted to the side and swept back off his face, looking silky against the darkness of his clothing. He truly cut a dashing figure amidst the bright colors and finery around him, looking for all the world like a young king among his courtiers.

Ginny's throat felt tight with desperate wishes that things were different. With a force of will that she rarely had need of, she strengthened her resolve against him and tried to relax.

* * *

Ginevra was dressed in a blue-green gown that had eyes like those found in the feather of a peacock sown in sparkling gold thread around the hem and bodice. The cut of the dress was elegant and modest but the thin, clinging fabric was anything but. Her brilliant copper hair was swept elegantly atop her head and held by spiking combs littered with sapphires, emeralds and peridot. Small peacock feathers hung from her ears and a heavy necklace of the same stones was twined about her slim neck.

She looked exotic and beautiful like an elaborate peacock herself, and as she glided towards him like a queen.

Draco ached for the girl he had forced them both to lose.

"Minister Malfoy," she murmured softly, and as she approached he was curious to see the soft glint in her eyes that teased him with the chance that the girl he loved was only hiding.

"Miss Weasley," he nodded coolly though his eyes traced her curves and he stepped closer than strictly necessary to catch the scent of her flowery skin.

Eyes were upon them, the calculating blue of Pansy, the tired green of Harry, the indignant blue of Ron, and a dozen or so society matrons, eyes lit with feral curiosity and scandalous anticipation.

"Such an honor to be here, Minister," she said softly. The crowd leaned imperceptibly forward, hushed conversations abounded. Even the dancers slowed to watch their political official and the Weasley girl whose family feud was well-known. Would sparks fly? Would tempers flare?

"Likewise, Miss Weasley. The last I saw of you was during our honored schooling. I am most pleased to see that you are doing well and did not suffer unduly during war times."

A polite, courteous comment, neither probing nor inflammatory. Commiserating without being coy.

"Thank you, although the war has made victims of us all. Might I say that it is wonderful to see such a capable Minister in office."

Draco inclined his pale head in acknowledgment of the comment, and offered the young woman his arm, knowing that he was taking the process too quickly, but desperate to hold her.

"My gratitude for your compliments, Miss Weasley. Might I beg a dance from you?"

As her hand touched him he shivered in longing, mind flooded with moonlit images of her sprawled beneath him, head thrown magnificently back and the scent of blood and sweat lingering in his nostrils.

"Certainly, I would be honored." Her voice quivered.

As he led her out to the floor, the chatter resumed, a flurry of speculation and rumor, because they made such a striking couple, and they seemed to be matched so well, and wasn't that Pansy Parkinson glaring daggers at the two from the corner?

"Did I prepare well enough for your coming, Draco," she hissed at him, flinging his threat back at him and drawing his attention to her beautiful raiment and upswept coiffure.

He had personally selected every garment, every jewel, to suit her brilliant coloring and curving figure.

"I always take care with my preparations."

He hinted at his hand in her attire, something she had no doubt concluded for herself, and she glared at him fiercely even as her hand crept around his shoulder in a soft caressing motion.

"I won't be a part of these manipulations, Draco. I've rid myself of your particular plague."

He smiled coolly, pressing his hand into her back as he swept her across the dance floor, pulling her indecently close to him hard enough to hurt.

"If I am a plague then you are a contagion. I promised myself that I would have you once again, Ginevra. You deny the truth we both know."

He silenced himself as another couple drew close, but as their steps took them away he continued.

"I have loved you beyond all reason, and absence only strengthened what I feel for you. I have devoted myself to everything around me, simply to come to you again."

Her hand fisted the silky richness of his robes.

"You're a liar. You made yourself what you are for politics and money and the Malfoy name."

"Benefits, Ginevra, benefits."

Ginny's heart beat faster at the sincerity in his seductive voice, which, she realized, lacked most of the venom he could never seem to contain just a couple years ago. Emotions she wanted only to deny tugged at her.

She scoffed quietly, but otherwise remained silent, avoiding his silver gaze.

"I don't want our dance to end," he murmured.

She nearly stumbled as a sharp memory seared her nerves. This_ is our dance_, he had whispered in her ear as he removed her clothing, before he made love to her, sucking the breath from her body with heady kisses and hot ardor. In the end leaving her a glass-eyed, sweaty husk, ecstasy and love still shooting through her veins.

_How will I ever escape these memories? _She cried inwardly.

Her gasp had been heard by a few other couples who looked on curiously before the dance swept them away. Draco kept his face calm and strengthened his hold on her, but he was worried that his reference to their past had shocked her too strongly.

With one last twirl the waltz ended and the couples clapped for the band and split off with new partners or drifted from the dance floor towards their seats or refreshments. Ginny's cheeks were red and she hardly glanced at him before moving away, maintaining her graceful appearance before leaving through the glass doors into the open air.

Draco saw Harry move to go after her but Ron stopped him and hurried after her himself. His pulse beat an angry rhythm as he swept to the side of a young woman whose father happened to be the very wealthy owner of the beauty product line Circe's Secrets, and asked her if she would care to dance. This was a charity event, after all, and as long as Harry remained within his sight he need not worry.

* * *

"Ginny," said Ron worriedly, as he caught up to her. The path was well lit, surrounded by pretty bushes that flickered with fairy lights. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine Ron," she said in a rather unconvincing voice. "I know what you must think. Pathetic little Ginny, forever chasing after someone she shouldn't want..."

"That's not what I think," He said in exasperation.

"What else?"

"That you have every right to be angry at that arrogant scab!" Ron grabbed her slender shoulders and pulled her to him. "I know I haven't seen you often since... everything happened, but I noticed, Gin. Many of us did."

"Gods, Ron. I tried so hard to hide it," she was near tears and he squeezed her harder.

"It's alright, Ginny, we can't help how we feel sometimes. I wish it had turned out differently, and it's not like a war is any use in forgetting, no matter how hard we try to throw ourselves into being helpful."

Ginny laughed shakily, "When did you become so understanding, big brother?"

Ron smiled. "Since I realized that nothing in this world is simple. Life isn't black and white. If my past failed relationships taught me anything it's that."

"Thanks for not dying" she said jokingly, pulling away from his hug. "I don't know what I would do without you."

"Be even more of a drunkard?" He suggested with mild disapproval.

"Neville is a tattle-tale," she grimaced.

"He's a good friend, Gin."

Ginny was feeling rather ungenerous towards him at that moment, so she said nothing.

"Let's go back inside, Malfoy will have my hide if he knows I've neglected my duties for you."

"Oh I'm sure, the bastard."

Ron laughed and slung an arm around her shoulders, guiding her inside before smiling and slipping away.

* * *

The moment Ginny saw Draco dancing with a remarkably pretty woman who was speaking animatedly to him, her feet carried her to the bar without a thought for what Ron might say, or any consequences.

The only thing her mind registered was the need to forget, just as it always had, and always would.

* * *

This dance was, fortunately, faster paced and ended quickly. No more dances with chatty air-heads, he decided, walking towards the bright red hair seated at the bar before he realized where he was heading and that he was being watched by too many pairs of curious eyes.

_Blast them all to hell_, he thought spitefully, without slowing his pace, _I did not become Minister of Magic to toe the line in front of a gaggle of bored socialites._

Her small, pale hand shook on the stem of her wine glass. He watched her tip her head back and swallow over half the glass before extending her arm for the bartender to refill it, which he did with a guilty look on his face.

"You seem familiar with demanding drinks from reluctant barkeepers, Ginevra," He said quietly. Already rather tipsy she had not noticed him standing so close, she nearly spilled her wine but he reached out to steady the glass, wrapping his hand around hers.

"Release my hand, if you would please, Minister," she said coldly.

After several seconds he did, and she drank a large gulp of her liberated wine.

"Why are you drinking so profusely?"

"Oh! Profusely, am I? Because I want to, Draco," Ginny hissed, glaring at him with sad, angry eyes.

"If you're not careful you will end up making a fool of yourself."

"You already beat me to that," she muttered, glaring into her empty glass. "_This is our dance_, indeed. Like I haven't been trying to forget you for two years, as it is."

Draco's body ached with sadness, with the need to touch her, console her, so he did. His hand slid down her soft, slender arm, the barest of touches. He almost expected her to lash out at him, but her reaction was something he did not expect.

A large tear slid down her beautiful face, which otherwise remained remarkably composed. "I can be like ice too, Draco," she murmured sadly, without even seeming to notice what she said. Then she shoved her glass at the bartender imperiously.

Draco was so stunned he didn't realize the need to stop the man from refilling her glass. Instead he sighed, "Ginevra, please. I need you to understand."

He made to reach for her glass as she drug it shakily to her lips, but she evaded him much more deftly than seemed possible, standing in the process. Ginny swallowed it down in one gulp, covering her mouth with a freckled hand as she let out a burp.

"How much wine has she drank?" He angrily asked the man behind the bar.

He stuttered. "I-I believe perhaps six or seven glasses?"

"Nearly an entire bottle of wine!" Draco was looking at the man with profound anger in his cold grey eyes.

"I... she... seemed to be holding it well?"

He heard Ginny say "excuse me, please," to an elderly couple several feet away. Then "oh I do apologize" to a group of men which she had wended her way through.

"I will deal with you when I return."

Her path was a ragged zig-zag, but Draco had no doubt she meant to head outside, and he went to intercept her.

When Ginny finally did reach the doors Draco was standing, barring her way. "Where are you going, Ginevra?"

"Away, you pompous _prat_, where do you think?" Ginny's voice was slurred and she had trouble focusing on his face.

"And how do you plan on arriving _away_?"

"I'm very confidant in my abilities to apparate, _Minister_."

"It is illegal to apparate and disapparate while drunk, Miss Weasley." Draco's patience was wearing thin, but he did not know how a severely drunk Ginevra Weasley acted and so felt the need to keep her talking.

"Yes, well I'd like to see you stop me!" Suddenly she was brandishing her wand in his face and he became worried as he saw several of his Aurors, including Harry intend to come to his aid. The irony of that struck him as humorous in a dim way, though most of his attention was focused on the tip of Ginevra's wand, which nearly jabbed his eye in her gusto.

_Expelliarmus, _he thought, pointing his own wand, which he had retrieved from his robes without having to be the slightest bit sneaky, up at hers.

It flew up towards the ceiling, but with another muttered spell it flew to his hand and into his pocket along with his own.

The surprised confusion on Ginny's face at the loss of her wand told Draco truly how drunk she was and it felt as though he had swallowed acid as he realized that she truly had intended to apparate somewhere, and the gruesome consequences of it flashed through his mind.

_This is the Ginevra I made_, he told himself. _I had the knowledge that I could get her back sustaining me and the entire time she believed she had lost me entirely and so sought to erase me from her memories, which I knowingly made impossible._

"Ginevra please..." Draco hoped that the earnestness in his voice would dissuade her from further antics. The pain in her eyes and face confirmed everything he did not want to know. He saw, in that instant, how the past two years had been for her. A harsh, gut-wrenching roller coaster of sadness and denial, memories and loneliness and betrayal.

She seemed ready to crumple to the floor in a puddle of tears, but instead she shoved him with all her strength. He fell back, but caught himself against the door frame in time to see Ginny regain her balance and fling herself through the doors.

He ran after her as quickly as his long legs would take him and heard the sharp crack of sloppy dissaparation before desperately throwing himself through the gap she made in space.

* * *

Oh, yeah.. the next chapter might take a while to write because I pretty much have to come up with a lot of story to fit Glass Mermaid's plot, but without it I wouldn't have anything. Na'mean?

Please** review**.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note: **I would just like to point out that this is all my own original writing... also I'm not sure how it will be received so please** review. **Thanks.

Enjoy!

* * *

_ Harry Potter. The _famous_ Harry Potter._ The dark haired man scoffed into his wine glass. _Lot of good defeating Voldemort did me. I'm a bloody Auror... a damn good one, at that, but what am I doing now? _He took another drink. _Sitting in a ballroom, watching everyone dance and revel around me, while I pine after a woman who isn't mine. Never will be either. _The revered Minister of Magic had given chase to her several minutes ago, leaving everyone who had noticed the commotion to worry, wait and gossip until he returned.

"Harry Potter!?" The sweet voice of a girl who couldn't have been more than eighteen years old shot through his morose thoughts like a gunshot. "Oh my gosh! It's so wonderful to see you here."

She was a pretty blonde, with wide brown eyes, a pert nose... and large breasts. Harry simply smiled, though he felt like laughing... so much for his sulkiness.

"Hello, miss. Please take a seat."

The girl sat next to him at the bar, staring into his green eyes with a look of adoring supplication. "You know, I was actually in school with you, Harry... or would you prefer Mr. Potter?"

"No, you can call me Harry. I believe I recognize you. Were you a Hufflepuff?" Harry, truthfully, did not recognize the girl... but he did know a Hufflepuff when he saw one.

"Oh! Yes, I am." The girl blushed and smiled at him, leaning forward slightly, letting the loose neck of her dress fall forward as well. "I'm so flattered." She bit her lip and extended her hand to him. "My name is Barica, a pleasure to meet you. I've wanted to for a long while now."

He held the dainty hand she offered for several seconds, looking into her eyes. "The pleasure is mine, Barica." Harry's voice was low and she leaned forward further to hear him, making Harry smile a guilty smile.

The poor girl seemed to become breathless when she saw the famous wizard icon before her take a long look at the cleavage her dress was exposing. Barica knew that men admired her breasts. They were rather nice, she admitted. But this wasn't just any man. It was _Harry Potter_. Handsome and_ good _and famous, truly the best the wizarding world had to offer.

"Would you care to dance?" Harry had, mostly unintentionally, become a very seductive man in the past couple of years. Women adored him, and though he never fell in love, he enjoyed the company of a pretty girl as much as the next man, and received more than his fair share of opportunities for it.

"I'm... not a very good dancer, I'm afraid." She looked embarrassed, but Harry only became more intent on her. He saw Barica's girlish desires as if they were written in her doe brown eyes.

"Then perhaps you will allow me to take you home?"

"That would be... wonderful. My date left me a while ago, I believe he got sick." The truth was that Thoman had gotten drunk and spoke to his mother rudely and so she had sent him home with their house elf.

"A shame to leave such a lovely woman unattended."

Barica smiled prettily.

"Would you excuse me for just one moment? I need to speak with a friend."

The girl nodded and Harry stood, practically bursting with wanting to tell Ron what had just happened. When Harry found his red-haired friend and asked him to cover for him if anyone noticed that he had left his post, Ron slapped him on the back, assured him that everything would be fine, and told him not to have too much fun.

When Harry returned to the bar he saw another fellow chatting with Barica, and he chuckled aloud at the extraordinary chance to solidify his position with the girl.

"Excuse me," said Harry coldly as he walked up to them.

The man paused in his flirtations and, looking irritated, nearly said something he would regret. Then he saw who was speaking to him and his mouth fell open.

Harry Potter ignored him and turned to Barica. "Are you ready to leave, darling?"

"Oh, yes, I am," said the girl breathlessly, taking his gallantly offered arm she walked out with him into the cool night.

* * *

"Oh god, Ginevra, what have I done to you?" Draco hastily scooped her into his arms, heart beating like a stampede of horses, he was standing in the forest outside of the burrow, where she had first kissed him. Much of the flesh on the left side of her body had been stripped clean away and she bled onto his clothing before he muttered a barely helpful healing spell which eased the blood flow.

He apparated to St. Mungo's where an Accidental Magic Reversal Squad met him and rushed her inside.

Draco paced outside her hospital room, seeing only her small pale body lying on the dead leaves of the forest floor, what remained of the beautiful dress soaked red with blood, hair spilling into disarray. He was too distraught to notice that he was covered in her blood so when a nurse asked him if he was injured he looked at her in confusion and she frowned and walked away.

The hour that it took for them to right her wounds seemed far longer to Draco. Finally a doctor came out. "Minister, I suggest you clean yourself up before going in to see her, she is still rather inebriated. We felt it would do better to let the alcohol run through her system normally, as the situation might be more of a shock to a sober mind."

He glanced down at himself in mild disgust and waved his wand over his clothing and hands.

The doctor nodded approvingly and said, "We did not inform her family, as she is an adult, and is not in any danger. She may go home tomorrow, stay as long as you like, but know that she does need to rest." With that she walked away.

Draco smoothed his hair, took a deep breath, then walked into the room, which Ginny was sharing with an elderly man who was asleep. He stopped at the foot of her bed and stood silently watching her. Red hair stood out against her pale face like blood and her eyes were glassy.

"Is it not strange, Draco," Ginny said quietly as if they were continuing a conversation, "That the last night we were together, you left me covered in bloody hand prints all over here?" She gestured at the side of her body that had been splinched, which was now healed and covered by a light green hospital gown and a blanket.

"One might view that as coincidence, Miss Weasley," he said stoicly.

She ignored his words. "Would you like to see something?"

Draco did not have time to reply before she sat up and pulled the gown over her head. The response his body made was like a bolt of lightning shooting through his core down to his loins, prompting him to brace himself on the bed.

"Look," she insisted drunkenly.

Draco did not want to_ look_, he wanted to ravage and caress and devour the naked, doll-like creature in front of him. Instead he did look, and saw that she was pointing at her shoulder, which was smooth and creamy.

"You've left scars on my soul, Minister," she said in a dreamy, detached voice. "As well as on my body."

That was when he noticed her right shoulder was lightly freckled and her left was not. Ginny yawned widely and fell back on the pillows, leaving all but her knees down uncovered by the blanket. Draco clenched his fists, amazed by his own restraint as blood rushed through his veins and an erection pressed stiffly against his trousers.

Focusing on what she had shown him, rather than his need to touch her, he noticed that the majority of her left side was unfreckled where the reversal squad had replaced her flesh.

Ginny's soft breathing told him that she had fallen asleep and he went about clothing her with the discarded hospital gown. He couldn't resist touching the soft skin of her breasts and neck, though it tortured him mercilessly.

_I do hope I'm not becoming a masochist_, he thought wearily as he pulled the blankets up around her slender body.

He sat down on a chair next to her and realized with a jolt that it wasn't even midnight yet and his guests would undoubtedly be wondering where he had gone. The thought of all those people seeing her acting like the village drunk made his blood curdle, but there was nothing to be done for it. He stood and after a long look at the sleeping form on the hospital bed, turned and left the building, apparating silently back at the lakeside a moment later.

His disappearance and the scene with Ginny might as well have gone unnoticed for all the heads that turned at his entrance. He wandered over to the bar, intending to have the bartender thrown out, but saw that there was already a different man serving drinks. That was when he saw Pansy staring at him from several yards away. The look on her face clearly, and coldly, saying 'you're welcome' before she turned away.

* * *

Gregory's night had not gone entirely better than expected. Silvine, the woman from the DIMC, had accepted his invitation to the Charity Ball and when he arrived at her apartment, she had invited him inside so she could finish preparing.

The inside of her small flat was cozy, all the rooms were painted in pretty, bright colors, and her furniture was girly and soft. He sat on a blue love seat and felt as though he would sink down to the floor in the plush cushions. Compared to his house, where everything was dark, tasteful and appropriately uncomfortable, this was like walking into a dream land.

Silvi, as she told him to call her, was not an uptight woman like those Greg was used to. She had greeted him warmly, dressed in only a bath robe, long brown hair hanging wetly down her back, which made him want to blush. After about thirty minutes of listening to her humming away down the hall, she stepped out into her living room and after twirling, struck a pose for him.

"How do I look?" She had asked.

Poor Goyle had not a clue what to say, simply standing in astonished silence. The dress she wore was a creamy pink that brought out the peach tint of her skin. It was not revealing, but he could clearly see what a beautiful body she had. Her hair was curled and pinned up along the sides, left to cascade down her back in a loose braid.

"Y-you look... lovely."

"Thank you! Us women... we try very hard, yes?"

Goyle chuckled at her honesty. "I don't think I'll ever understand it."

"Maybe one day!" She smiled and walked over to him, taking a hold of his arm. Though she was wearing rather tall, flesh toned heels, she only came up to his shoulder. Goyle was a big man, but at just twenty-one years of age, he was in his prime and looked very dashing and muscular in darkest green robes, the Ministry emblem sewn in Auror red above his heart.

They stepped out of her building to the sidewalk and after making sure that there were no muggles about, he apparated them to the lake-house.

The doors of the large, very beautiful house, which had been renovated so that the inside resembled a ball-room, were not open just yet, so he asked her if she would like to take a walk by the lake. Silvi declared that it was a marvelous idea, so on they went.

She chatted about her life, how much of a struggle it was dealing with foreign diplomats and ambassadors, and her brother who was the equivalent of an Auror in America. Apparently her mother was an American witch and had left her here with her father when she was young and taken Jack to live with her across the pond. Her light blue eyes shone silver in the reflection of the moon off the lake and Gregory had the strangest sensation of falling when he looked into them.

When they finally did enter the ball room, the place was already nearing capacity and Gregory saw Draco dancing with a beautiful red-haired woman who was looking lovely in a dress that, as she danced, seemed to be swirling with two different colors. He recognized Ginevra Weasley and sincerely hoped that all was well, though few thoughts could be spared for the couple as Silvi whisked him off to speak with acquaintances, get drinks from the bar, and eventually dance until she was dizzy and laughing.

Goyle was so caught up in enjoying the company of this vibrant, earthy woman that he did not even notice when the Minister was threatened at wand point by a drunk red-haired woman, then left chasing after her into the night.

Shortly after midnight he noticed Draco dancing dispassionately with an equally stoic, and very sexily dressed, Pansy Parkinson, and also that there were still many people dancing and having fun, though he had a feeling the open bar had something to do with that. As a matter of fact his own date, who was thicker than women like Pansy, but still very small, seemed to have had a few too many drinks and was leaning affectionately on a still very sober Gregory.

He decided that now would be a good time to see this lovely woman home, and do the same for himself.

* * *

The minister's finger's were cool against the small of her back and Pansy couldn't help breathing deeply of the ocean scent he wore so well. He spoke not a word to her, and she returned the favor, dancing simply to please her father and mother, who had left earlier, but would no doubt hear about everything she did the next day.

Draco truly was a handsome man, one that resembled Lucius more every time she saw him. It reminded her vividly of the girlish crush she had had on that man when she was younger. To say that she had envied Narcissa Malfoy would be an understatement. She had both loathed her for her grace, beauty and icy poise as well as idolized her for it. The late Mrs. Malfoy had been everything Poppy Parkinson wasn't, and desperately wanted to be. Poppy had passed that same desire on to her oldest daughter, though she was much nearer to achieving it than the older lady Parkinson would ever be.

Lucius, Clyde and Narcissa, had been good friends at Hogwarts, but had drifted apart to some degree when Voldemort came into the picture. Clyde had decided that keeping out of the Dark Lord's plans would be in he and his family's best interest, though he kept all his connections alive, doing much to assist his friends when they were in need.

While Pansy pondered such things leisurely, the only thoughts in Draco's mind were of Ginny. What he could do to keep her safe and securely in his life, as well as break whatever was keeping her so fixed against him. A sort of plan was forming in his mind, one that made him both excited and nervous. It was a testament to his iron composure that the perceptive, and self-centered, Pansy truly did not think there was a thing on his mind except irritating her with his cool aloofness.

When the dance ended they both split apart and did no more than glance at each other before walking away, Draco to go tell Othelia that he was leaving, and Pansy to go speak with a handsome man who had introduced himself to her earlier. The only difference in how they parted was the small sigh of frustrated anger that Pansy could not help but release as she stepped away.

* * *

Harry was lying in the bed of his London apartment staring up at the ceiling, a young woman was curled naked against his side. She had just fallen asleep after nearly two hours of love-making. Her arm was draped across his stomach, which was still sticky with sweat. It was difficult for him to resist the temptation of waking her up to have another go. Rarely was Harry lucky enough to be with a woman as expressive as this one. He smiled, sure that she had disturbed half the people in this building.

It said a lot for his prowess that he could make such a lovely girl scream his name in such a way...

He stood to go relieve himself, but was caught by the sight of blood on his member. _Oh no_, was all he could think. He desperately hoped he hadn't deflowered the sleeping girl. He thought back to when he had entered her... she had cried out, but he had felt no resistance in her, had he? _Damn it_.

"Something like this would happen," he muttered, standing over the toilet. After rinsing himself off he walked back into the room, where he found Barica awake and sitting up.

"I thought you might have left me." she smiled innocently at him.

"Leave you at my apartment?" Laughing, Harry sat down next to her on the bed. "Barica... did I..."

"What?" She seemed nervous.

"You weren't... a virgin... before tonight, were you?"

"Well, yes... I suppose I was. Is that bad?"

"No! No, not bad," He groaned inwardly, rubbing his eyes wearily, "I appreciate you giving me... your virginity, I just wouldn't want you to think this is more than what it is. You understand?" He was worried that he sounded too harsh, but there was no getting around it.

"I do understand, truly. I'm glad that it happened, I never thought I'd be so lucky, and I'm protected against... pregnancy... so don't worry. I do hope we can do it again, though." Barica looked shy.

Harry leaned in and kissed her lips gently. "Of course. But tell me what you mean about being lucky?" He was rather worried she expected a marriage proposal despite her words of assurance.

She laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her breasts against him. "You're so... amazing, Harry. I've always admired you, even before you beat Voldemort, in school my friends and I would always talk about who we would choose to do... _it_ with if we could have anyone. I always wanted my first time to be with someone older, who can please me the way you have."

He smiled and fell backwards onto the mussed sheets, head resting on a pillow. She was artless in her attempt to lay comfortably on him, but when she straddled his waist, she felt him hard against her and let out a small sigh. "I'm afraid I don't know what I'm doing."

"Experiment," was all he replied.

* * *

The moment Goyle walked Silvine to the door of her building and stopped to bid her goodnight, she pulled his face down and placed a wet kiss on his partially open lips. The kiss caught him completely off guard and left him feeling dazed, so when she tugged him through the door, he did little in the way of resisting.

Silvine giggled as she continued pulling him up two flights of stairs. She seemed to enjoy racing up the steps and yanking him along, and Greg didn't have it in him to stop her as he so easily could have. They arrived at the door with the brass 3C nailed to it and she unlocked it, with a lot of fumbling, using a key she had conjured with her wand.

They stepped back through the familiar kitchen and into the living room where a very nervous Goyle stopped in his tracks. Silvi had let go of his hand and was making her way through the hallway when she realized that he wasn't following. She turned and walked back to him, tottering on her tall heels.

"What's the matter, Gregory?" She smiled up at him.

"I... didn't expect..." Goyle felt like looking anywhere except at her.

"Didn't expect..." Silvi grimaced and flopped down on the couch with a sigh, patting the cushion next to her.

He sat down, making sure that there was a good amount of space in between them... which she immediately breeched. She linked her arm through his and leaned her head against his shoulder, folding her legs up.

Silvine yawned against his arm, making him feel warm inside. "It's been such a long time for me. I haven't had... male company in almost a year!" She laughed ruefully. "You're the only person that knows that. My girlfriends would stare at my like gaping fishes if they knew."

"A year?" It hadn't even been that long since Goyle first had relations with a woman, but he wasn't about to tell Silvi that.

"I know! Hardly anyone would believe it, even if I did tell them. Everyone thinks I'm fast, though from tonight I'm sure you do too, but really I'm just nice to people and also a bit of a flirt so... it gets misinterpreted."

"I don't want you to think that I'm not interested, Silvi," he said hesitantly. "I just don't want you to regret anything... or think that I'm only interested in you for... your female company."

"Oh, Gregory!" Silvi sat up and looked him in the eyes. "That's precisely why I want to.. with _you. _I feel _such_ a connection, sorry if that sounds cliche... Oh but I'm sodden! Damn it, I didn't mean to be."

"Don't be sorry. I think that's the sweetest thing any woman has ever told me. But you're very small, it's not a surprise since you drank so much."

Silvi laughed and leaned back into the soft couch, closing her eyes. "I can't help but say sweet things to you, Gregory. Especially in the state I'm in."

It took Goyle several minutes to build up the courage to turn to her and kiss her but when he did he found her plump lips were slightly open and she was breathing peacefully. He shook his head at how easily alcohol affected women, he had drank more than her after all.

Gently scooping Silvine up into his arms, and making sure not to jostle her, Goyle carried her through the narrow hallway to the last door on the left, which he rightly guessed was her bedroom. The walls were painted sunset blue with beautiful white birds circling on a grey border. A bedside lamp turned on as soon as the door opened and a picture of a man looked at him disapprovingly from his frame on her vanity.

Greg laid her down, unstrapped her shoes and covered her with a light blanket, shaking his head at her hair which he had not the vaguest clue on how to unravel though he was sure her scalp would be sore when she awoke. The man in the frame was staring at him with slightly less rancor, though if he had seen the thoughts in Goyle's mind at that moment it would have doubled. Silvine was a beautiful woman and Greg was only a man, with normal desires. He cursed his gentlemanly cowardice as he turned and closed the door behind him, hoping that tonight's activities had not been a drunken accident of Silvine's.

* * *

I hope you all like what I did with Harry and Goyle's stories... tell me what you liked or disliked in a review. More to come... soonish.


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